


It Ain't the Whiskey

by SterlingChainChomp



Series: Dean has an alcohol problem [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Drunk Sex, M/M, castiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:56:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2711405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SterlingChainChomp/pseuds/SterlingChainChomp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cas and Dean have gone their separate ways which causes Dean's alcohol dependency to really become a problem that only Cas can fix and then they bang because I would never give up an opportunity write drunk sex. </p><p>Inspired by the song "It Ain't the Whiskey" by Gary Allen. </p><p>Also, excuse my rushed ending because I'm super tired and I really wanted to get this done tonight. Also too lazy to proofread, so please do let me know if anything needs to be reworked. </p><p>Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Ain't the Whiskey

AA was out of the question. For Dean to bare his soul to a group of strangers would not only be pointless, it might even get him committed. “I drink because I have nightmares about the time I spent in literal Hell.” Not the most viable excuse in the world of blissfully ignorant normal people. No, meetings were not the answer. 

He didn’t even bother going out to the bar anymore. Taking home girls used to numb the pain a little, but not now. He was too angry to charm any women, and usually too drunk to get off anyway. Instead, he drank at the bunker. Pathetically. Drowning in whiskey, alone, silent, and barely functioning. 

Tonight was unlike any other. Sam had just returned from another solo hunt, there was no use in brining Dean anymore, he was a liability now. He found his older brother sitting at the table and staring drunkenly at the wall. And tonight, Sam decided, he had had enough. 

“Dean,” he said in a quiet, testing the waters sort of greeting. 

“Hey Sammy. How was the uh— did you get that vamp?” Dean slurred. 

“That was a month ago, Dean. I was hunting a ghost in Salt Lake City.” 

“Right, right. Sorry,” he took another swing from his bottle, and looked back at the wall. 

Sam took a seat at the table, already exasperated. “Did you… did you _do_ anything today?” 

Dean made a boozy attempt at rolling his eyes, then looked at his younger brother languidly. “Well, you won’t let me hunt anymore, so I don’t know what you expect me to do,” his voice was heavy. 

“Dean… Dean this has got to stop,” Sam murmured, his hand on his brow. He knew deep down that his words were meaningless to the drunken shell of his brother sitting before him, but what else could he do? 

A mask stretched across Dean’s face, suddenly. He turned his body toward Sam with a wide, sickly grin on his face. “Come on, Sam. I’m fine,” he mumbled with an artificial shrug. “I’m just taking a, uh, a break. Y’know?” 

“That’s crap and you know it. You need help,” Sam replied, seriously. 

The mask was ripped off in an instant as Dean slammed his fist down on the cheap table, nearly breaking it. “There is no help for me, Sam!” he shouted. 

Unstartled, Sam’s eyebrows stitched together in deep concern, and he shook his had sadly. “Dean, I’m sorry. I wish that I knew what to do. But no matter what we have been through, I never thought you would resort to this…” noticing that he had lost Dean’s attention, he stood and walked away, trailing off. 

What Dean didn’t realize as he sat fiddling with his whiskey bottle between drinks, was that Sam had reached a last resort of his own. In the privacy of his room, he knelt down by his bed, his elbows on the mattress, hands knitted together, and bowed his head as though his posture would help him to be heard. And there, he said a prayer to Castiel:    
 _Cas, I… I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know_  
what happened with you and Dean, but… I’m scared  
Cas. He’s… he’s not doing well. I just, please, if you  
care at all, please help. Talk to him at least. He  
doesn’t hear a word I say… 

There was nothing else to say, he supposed, and Cas probably wasn’t listening anyway. Bitterly, Sam lay down for another sleepless night. 

About that time, Dean also went to his room, making his way by balancing on the walls and counters and shelves. When he opened the door, Castiel stood before him, wearing his usual unreadable but decidedly solemn expression. Dean nearly fell backwards, looking in disbelief at his bottle, wondering how much alcohol one would have to consume to bring on hallucinations. 

“I’m real, Dean,” the angel said, quietly, as the other man steadied himself in the door frame. 

Shaking his head, he walked passed Castiel and sat down on the bed with his hand in his hair. “What the hell, man? Why are you here?” he asked. It was clear that the shock hadn’t been enough to sober him up. 

“I don’t know, Dean. I don’t know what I can do,” he said in his same matter-of-fact tone. 

“I’ll tell you. I’l tell you what you can do. You can fly your ass outta here. I don’t need this intervention crap.” 

“Can’t we talk, at least?” the angel inquired, not stepping any closer. 

“About what, huh? ‘The first step to healing is admitting you have a problem?’ Well, I don’t have a problem! I have a hundred! You think you can fix me, Cas? Not even an angel can do the job. I’m beyond fixing, so just fucking go,” Dean took a long pull from his bottle with his eyes closed, perhaps hoping the angel would be gone when he opened them again. 

Instead, Cas was standing over him, looking down, apparently angry. “Do you honestly think I’m going to sit by and watch you kill yourself this way?” he said, his voice calmer than his face. 

Dean stood abruptly, making Cas step backwards, unsure of what the hunter was capable of in this state. “You think it’s this shit that’s killing me!” he yelled, smashing the bottle on the floor. The strong smell of liquor flooded the small room. His eyes were filled with heat as he walked after Cas, shouting, “I have been fighting monsters since I was a kid. I have watched my friends get ripped to pieces by the things that go bump in the night, I have see the actual Devil, I have been to Hell, and none of that has taken me out. Then you fucking show up, and you’re here and we go through a lot of shit, but it doesn’t matter because somehow you make everything better, and then you’re fucking gone,” he was beginning to break down now, deep sorrow replacing his initial fire, his knees beginning to wobble. “It ain’t the whiskey, Cas. It’s all this shit in my head that I can’t forget. Not the monsters, not the demons, not even Hell, it’s that I can’t forget all the good we had. I can’t let it go. I’m addicted. And that’s what’s killing me, Cas. I can’t let you go.”  
The angel dropped to the floor beside the other man who now had his face buried in his palms, shoulders rattling shamelessly, legs bent in front of him like a child. 

“Dean, I—“

“Save it. We can’t do this, we proved that already.” Dean interrupted, drying his face.” 

“I gave you your chance to speak, Dean. Give me mine,” Cas said, warmly. 

Dean nodded, looking around for his drink out of habit. 

Cas glanced away from him, saddened by the very gesture. “Dean… I believe our paths crossed for a reason. Would you say that’s true?” Cas waited for an answer, but none came, so he continued. “It seems cruel to me that God or whatever brought us together would make us compatible to save the human race side by side, but not to coexist outside of that. I have long hoped that was not the case. Maybe our differences were a matter of circumstance, and not a reflection of our fundamental selves.” It became clear to Castiel that he was losing Dean, so he attempted to simplify. “ What I’m trying to say is that, maybe we fought because of everything else that was going wrong. Maybe this is meant to be after all, or maybe I don’t care if it’s meant to be or not. I don’t know why or when I began to love you, Dean, but I have, and I do. As an angel, I do not find vices such as alcohol or sex to numb the pain of loss, of course pain and loss are new to me altogether, but I have missed you.” 

Unconvinced, Dean stared at him with glassy eyes, brow furrowed, and hoped he had more to say. He didn’t, so Dean spoke next. “I can’t let you do this, Cas. I’m not some stray dog that you can take in out of pity, alright? We don’t work. You didn’t know pain before you met me, and I’m not going to put you through anymore.”

“Don’t you think it’s painful for me to watch you drink yourself to death, Dean?” 

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I do it because I love you, and because I hoped you would get better. You say you’re bad for me, but I though I was bad for you, Dean. I thought if I stayed away long enough, you would get better. It didn’t matter how broken up I was, as long as you were okay. But now I see that we need each other. Please, Dean. Please let me help you.” 

His will was fading, he was powerless to resist Castiel especially this inebriated. He tried to make light of it all, but still he fell into the angel’s chest brokenly. “You really think you can put me back together again?” he murmured. 

“If you let me, I will do my best.” Cas replied.

“I love you, and we are so fucked.” Dean said, looking up into Castiel’s eyes. 

The angel met him halfway with a soft kiss that sent a heat through Dean that even whiskey could not compete with. Cas lifted them up, helping Dean to get to the bed while avoiding the shattered glass on the floor. The hunter initiated a deeper kiss, placing a strong hand on the back of Castiel’s neck, and moving as close to his cool body as he could. “I have missed you so much, Cas. Please stay with me tonight,” Dean whispered desperately. 

“I will be right here, Dean. Lie down,” Cas assured him. Before joining Dean in bed, Cas walked round to take his boots and jeans off for him. Once Dean appeared more comfortable, Cas shrugged off his coat and blazer, and stripped down to his underwear. He struggled to pull the blanket out from under Dean, who was nearly passed out, and thus, dead weight. Nevertheless, he got the blanket out and slid underneath it and next to Dean. The warmth was impeccable, something that went unreplicated in heaven. It could only be produced by human flesh, Cas thought, and he molded himself to Dean in order to absorb as much of it as possible. He knew Dean was tired, but he couldn’t help but run his hands up and down the hunter’s firm stomach, and planting kisses in his hair. 

Dean responded unexpectedly, rolling to meet Cas’s lips with his own, and pushing his tongue through with surprising energy and precision. Castiel met his enthusiasm with a hard embrace, and he could already feel Dean’s erection begin to tent the front of his boxers. 

“Cas, I just… I need you. Please” Dean mumbled between kisses. 

“And I, you, Dean. It’s been far too long to wait anymore.” With that, Cas began to palm Dean through his boxers, his own cock growing hard rapidly. 

Each of them wiggled out of their remaining garments, and Dean grabbed Cas by the hips, hoisting him onto his waist. The hunter, wasting no time, gently pressed a finger wet with spit into the angel, who had no evident complaints. Dean’s head was still fuzzy with booze, and it made the sensations new and dreamy. He added another finger, and began to scissor them, listening to Cas’s quiet, encouraging groans with his eyes closed. He inhaled deeply, grateful for the angel’s beautiful scent filling his nostrils. 

Castiel did not require much preparation, even after the length of time passed, their prior consistent lovemaking had kept him well conditioned. He was ready, ready to feel a closeness that could be matched by no other act with no other person. And as if the hunter were reading his mind, he lifted Cas’s hips, made his cock slick with spit, and positioned the angel above it, allowing him to lower himself slowly. 

The blurry warmth surrounding Dean intensified as the tingling sweet sensation rose from his groin, and he grinned unabashedly as his ears took in a drawn out moan from above. His first genuine happiness in months enveloped him, and he hoped Cas felt it too. Without inhibition, Dean rested his hands on Castiel’s hips and allowed him control, and enjoying the ride as the angel increased his speed slowly. 

Occasionally, Cas leaned forward to plant sloppy kisses on Dean’s smiling lips, and Dean would then open his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He drank in the familiar sight of Cas’s bare torso, more muscular than most would suspect, as he bounced up and down sending bolts of electricity through him, poking little holes in the fog that surrounded him. 

Before Dean knew it, Cas was riding up and down in earnest, stroking himself and nearly screaming. It brought the hunter out of his drunken haze long enough to realize what was happening, and he took hold of Castiel’s cock for him to help him over the edge. It was glorious to feel the angel’s come on his stomach, to feel him clenching around Dean’s cock through his orgasm, but it was not enough to bring Dean to a climax of his own. And that was perfectly okay. Castiel dismounted intending to finish Dean, but he pushed Cas’s hand away from his cock, which was growing soft now, and maintained his dreamy smile. 

“Dean let me—“

“No Cas, it’s all right. I’ll have my turn another day.” He mumbled, eyes closed, taking Castiel by the hand. It was so perfect just to feel Cas, see him, smell him, hear him, even through a haze, nothing else mattered. In that moment, Dean felt no shame or remorse, only bliss. He was sound asleep before Cas returned from cleaning up. 

Tomorrow, the two would begin perhaps their hardest battle yet. But for now, Dean was safe, happy, and resting peacefully with his angel by his side.


End file.
